Miranda
by Reiyin
Summary: The dark eldar raid an imperial world engaged in civil war. They quickly find out that it's not the imperials they really have to worry about.
1. Chapter 1

_Two human armies, great in number but not much else, finally met each other in an old ruined city. Battles previous were more like mere skirmishes, leaders of both armies too afraid to commit to a large confrontation. But not so in the dead city. There, in those ancient ruins, the two hosts met. Not one of them could say for sure who had built the old city, or when, or why. But it made the perfect place for them to meet._

_Being cowards by nature, neither wanted to have war touch their own precious home soils, so they met in this neutral place. Little did they know that there were those who knew of the ruin's turbulent past, and were even now watching them. This was not the first time war had come here. Before humans blighted the planet's surface with their stench, a much older civilisation prospered there. No one knows much about them, or what happened to them and their city. Unless of course you take into account those who destroyed them._

_The cities previous occupants called themselves Lycopiads, and their city was named Miranda. So what did they look like you may ask? What cultural achievements did they accomplish? What did they contribute to the grander scheme of the cosmos? Who cares. They're dead and dust, a bloody stain upon the face of time. We made them so._

_Now these humans are here, and we watch and wait. We see a new opportunity for a great raid to commence. We watch them from secret places, from the old gates that lead to that world that we left behind, hidden. Let the fools bleed themselves dry in their petty civil war. We will delight in the carnage and misery they will cause. Than, when the time is right, we will swoop upon them like a murder of crows to finish them both, leaving their respective homelands open to us._

_And who are we? That is the most important question of all! We are many things. We are ancient, so much so we have witnessed young stars grow old and dim. We are terror, for that is the greatest weapon of all. We are darkness, for we devour the light of hope that may be kindled in the hearts of our quarry. We are speed, for we always strike first. And most importantly, we are death, for death comes to all things but death itself._


	2. Chapter 2

Captain Jaggo moved with practiced silence through the corridors of the old ruin. His men were arrayed in several different defensive positions within the building, and he had to make his checks to ensure all was well. 'Building' he thought with a laugh. The word denotes some sort of shelter, a place of warmth and safety perhaps. It provided these things, but the whole place felt wrong, like a tomb. The entire city felt wrong. Histories of civilizations on the world of Varris started long before humanity reached it. This place was its most fantastic example. An entire city: shadowy and unexplored. Access was tightly controlled by the governing body of Varris. It was a xenos city after all. Why they didn't just destroy it, he had no idea. But it made a good place to hide the bulk of rebel forces Jaggo was part of. The city was massive, a good hiding place even for an army. From here they would earn their freedom from the Imperium.

The imperials were now on the defensive. Thanks to General Vae's forward planning, assaults on the city had proved costly for them. The rebels were well entrenched and have had decades to stockpile weapons and other necessities for making war. It has been a long road to get to this point, but the end game was nigh. Now he and his platoon were simply waiting for orders for the push into imperial lines. Varris only had a small military to defend it, and this last assault would effectively put it out of the war. The planet would belong to the General Vae and his rebels. Jaggo briefly wondered what the General was up too. It had been weeks since he had made a personal visit with the men. This was unusual because he was the charismatic type, liked to be seen by the men. And the men enjoyed seeing him. They went into open rebellion for him after all. Jaggo put these thoughts out of his mind. Vae must be busy planning their big push; he can't be bothered with trivial things at a time like this.

Jaggo was just about finished with his checks when his vox bead chirped in his ear. Voxs were a form of communications between squads and squad members. The voice of his communications officer came over 'Alpha 1a to Alpha 1, finished comm checks with adjoining squads, negative response from squad Delta on three tries. Request further.'

'Delta squad', he said to himself pensively. 'That's Torrin's squad; must be having vox problems'. Torrin isn't the type to miss a comm check, or allow his vox to go down, he always had a backup he thought. Better to be safe, Jaggo decided. He activated his vox bead and responded 'Keep trying them on vox, also send a runner to their position to double check.'

'I copy, continue vox hails and dispatch a runner' was the simple reply.

Orders to move would come in soon, and the last thing they needed was a comm gap. Ten minutes went by with no word on vox contact or the runner. He called up his vox officer again. 'Alpha 1 to Alpha 1a.' No response. He tried twice more, and still nothing. 'Goddammit...' he cursed quietly. Now his comms were down? What's going on here? Three things needed to be maintained for a successful operation, comms weapons and movement. This can't be tolerated.

He began to move in the direction of the nearest post. The heavy weapons team was placed here since it was a good position to get some grazing fire and cover the length of the building. He would check with them first to see if they were having vox problems too. It was dark inside, more than usual he noted, and the shadows looked odd. To his horror, he realized that not all the 'shadows' were shadows, but blood, gallons of it splattered about. Limbs and chunks of unidentifiable organs were scattered around along with bits of clothing and gear. It was the remains of his weapons team. He recoiled, struggling not to vomit. He had seen the terrible things weapons could do too men, but what was in that room far surpassed anything he'd ever experienced. How someone managed to cause that kind of carnage, let alone infiltrate their position in total silence baffled and terrified him. He was stunned into inaction, unable to think at the moment. That's when he heard them for the first time. Laughter, it sounded like laughter! It echoed around in the tight confines and corridors, disrupting its point of origin. It was cruel laughter, yet melodious. It would be pleasant to listen too if it weren't for the fact that its amusement stemmed from the butcher of his weapons team! He heard another sound, like a foot step; more like a miss step, he thought. He reacted immediately, raising his pistol and firing with practiced precision. He hit nothing. There was suddenly a pain in his lower back, followed by a creeping numbness that spread out from the point of injury. He had been stabbed. Laughter again: this time directly behind him.

'Calm now, no need to run about like a frightened animal' said the voice at his back. The numbing kept spreading, moving from his back and outwards to his limbs. He collapsed to the floor, inadvertently facing the direction he shot at. There was a figure there, about 3 yards from where his shot landed. He wasn't sure how, but it must have thrown its sound like some can throw their voice to mask where it's coming from. It was a distraction for the fiend that snuck in behind him. The creature that stood before him was tall and lithe, and very much human in appearance. However, other features suggested otherwise. Its features were elf-like, its face thin and angular. Ears topped off with sharp points, and the eyes were slanted and reflective in the dim light, like a feline. The weapon it bore was some sort of rifle, and was adorned with blades obviously meant for close combat. Even its black armor seemed covered in blades, every segment and joint ending in a point or edge. This creature exuded cruelty. He had heard of them before, during sermons given by imperial priests on the many evils of the alien. These were Eldar, pirates and raiders intent on murder and cruelty. It all made sense now, how him and his men were undone. The blade in his back must have been envenomed. It was a favoured Eldar tactic, to incapacitate a victim. Slavery is their ultimate objective whenever they are involved.

Suddenly the creatures began to make strange hand gestures. Initially Jaggo was at a loss, but than he realised what they were doing: Silent communication, hand signs used to maintain stealth. Than he heard why: There was another squad outside, attempting to hail his squad. They must have come to investigate why there was no contact from him and Alpha squad. He tried to yell a warning, but his voice refused to work. The poison! He thought. He'd never felt so helpless. Not only would he see his own squad butchered, but watch his own would be rescuers ambushed soon after.

He returned his attention back to the aliens, who seemed to have come to a consensus. He could just barely make out movement. They were positioning for ambush, no doubt. The one he could see, the one who distracted him, was smiling lewdly in his direction. It brandished a blade in its right hand, and moved inexorably toward his prone body. The blade would have made a poor weapon for combat, which perplexed him as to why the creature carried it. It was curved and thin, like a knife for gutting fish. In the other it held what looked to be a syringe. The creature next words chilled him: 'Your paralysis will pass within a few moments of this injection, and than you will play your part. But first I must prepare your flesh.' He stared in mute terror as the blade lowered towards him, and easily parted the skin of his chest.


	3. Chapter 3

_He didn't know how much time went by. The poison from the eldar's blade had dulled all of his senses, his whole body only able to feel a dull ache, completely incapable of movement. After some time he lost consciousness. He began to dream, or at least he hoped he was dreaming. In one dream he was in a great burning desert. He was in the middle of a sandstorm, and he experienced in slow terrifying motion his own skin being scoured from his flesh. Every nerve was on fire, causing so much pain it was impossible to scream. In another dream, his vision slowly blurred into focus, just in time for him to witness two disembodied hands withdraw from his face, holding what looked like a patch of ragged cloth with three holes in it. He thought that it vaguely resembled a mask. Than he saw that the hands weren't disembodied, but attached to something. It was the eldar, the one who poisoned him. It admired the mask thing for a moment, admiring it as if it were some piece of art, before setting it down. This isn't a dream Jaggo thought, suddenly remembering his own name. His skin itched all over his upper body, his head, and his face. He tried to move his hand, only managing a feeble twitch of the muscles. It was enough to send a torrent of pain radiating across his torso. Suddenly he was very aware of pain, mind numbing pain. His head twisted sideways in feeble convulsion, granting him a look at the mask thing. It wasn't a mask. Before the full horror of the situation could settle in, the eldar stuck his arm with a syringe. Everything changed in a moment. Pain an agony was replaced with rage, and visions of terror were replaced with red._

The squad sent to investigate the sudden silence of Sergeant Jaggo and his squad had just begun to settle into defensive positions behind a long berm adjacent to the complex they were last known to be holding. Once settled, Sergeant Bren would send in a small team to find out what had caused the silence. Caution was paramount, as an enemy infiltration of the front line couldn't be ruled out. Things were quiet however. If an enemy unit occupied the building, why hadn't they opened fire yet? Even moving in cover, Bren and his men could have hardly avoided notice by an observant spotter. Stranger still, if Jaggo and his men were still there, why hadn't they challenged Bren's squad with the predetermined code words? His men settled, small arms and heavy weapons trained on the building and ready to fire if necessary, Bren initiated the challenge himself. "Throne room!" he called out out as loudly as he could. The call echoed around in the empty streets. Bren and his men waited for a response. The proper reply was 'cold fire'. A different response would indicate a compromise or duress. Silence answered them however. He called again, with similar results. Reluctantly, he keyed his vox bead to signal his flanking fire team to move forward and search the building.

Just before he gave the order to move, he got a response to his challenge. It wasn't the proper one, and he wasn't sure it even issued from a person. It was a howl, a blood curdled call of the damned. It was very sudden, and full of what was obviously blind rage. Than silence. Bren and his men all stared on, wide eyed, waiting for some beast to emerge from building and charge them. Nothing happened. Than, in a blast hole the size of a small tank in the side of the building, a figure emerged from the blackness. It resembled a man, but it was too dark to be certain. Bren issued no orders, watching for the figure to make a move. He knew his men, they were disciplined and sharp. They wouldn't budge unless he gave the word. Tuln, the man to Bren's right, was his squad marksmen. Bren didn't even need to look over at Tuln to know he had a bead on the figure.

Sergeant Bren decided to try the challenge one last time. "Throne room!" he called again. The figure in the dark reacted immediately, fixing its gaze on the source of the noise. It made its bone chilling howl again, crouching down on it's haunches and spreading its arms and fingers like some feral predator. It suddenly sprung forward, charging for Bren and his men. "Drop it" was Bren's reply. It wasn't meant for the creature, but for Tuln. Tuln's Lasrifle cracked, sending a bright red beam of hot energy center mass into the charging figure. It dropped, falling from sight just behind a pile of rubble. The silence that followed was deafening. Bren and his squad simply waited, all of them wondering what else might come out of that blast hole. Than they heard a strange sound, closing fast. It was like scraping, or scuttling. There was so much debris between his berm and the building they couldn't track its source visually. That thing couldn't still be alive! He thought. Than it crested a debris pile just ahead of their berm.

It was indeed still alive, and look none the worse for ware, even with the solid chest shot. They all got a clear look at it now, and it shocked each last one into a moments inaction. It was on all fours, crouched like some sort of crab. It had scuttled like that, covering several yards in rubble strewn terrain with alarming speed. It was a man, or used to be. It still wore fatigue pants and boots, the exact type each one of them wore now. It's upper body however was bare of any uniform, but the other thing missing was what was most alarming. It was skinless. The face, torso, everything, was just glistening red muscle covered in dust and soot that clung to seeping blood. From it's scuttling position it moved to a crouch, and leapt. It was so fast none of them really registered it until it was too late. Suddenly it was amongst them, and was a whirlwind of death. Tuln was the first, the thing having simply picked him up and bit into his neck. It held Tuln aloft by his throat, like a feline does to a rodent to choke its life away. In a spray of arterial blood, it flicked its head to the side, flinging Tuln away like a limp doll. A squad member regained composure enough to move, swinging his lasrifle towards the thing. There was a crack, but it wasn't the soldier's rifle. The thing moved faster, whipping its left arm back and across the face of the hapless squad member, viciously snapping his neck. By this time, the rest of the squad had begun to act, and random shots of laser fire scattered in the direction of the thing as it danced amongst them, clawing and biting, rending and killing. It did not do so unscathed. Shots found their marks, bayonets found exposed muscle and sinew. The thing finally succumbed to the sustained trauma, collapsing with a low growl, than silence. Bren put a round into its head to be absolutely sure it didn't get back up.

He quickly assessed the damage to his squad, as the massacre happened right in his section of the line. Six of his men were shredded by the thing, all were dead. He quickly issued orders do the rest. They had to make sure another monster didn't get the drop on them. He would have to call this in to headquarters. That thing was a member of Jaggo's squad, no doubt about it. Something did this to him, turned him against his own. This posed a significant threat to future operations. Bren made his way to his vox man to call in the message. That's when they were flanked by black armored assailants.

_Their feint having distracted Bren's squad, the eldar struck quickly and with extreme violence. The resulting fire fight, if it could even be called that, was woefully one sided. Bren and his men were inundated with envenomed shards of crystal, the ammunition fired from the eldar assault weapons. The remaining ten men, including Bren, were slaughtered to a man. The eldar were in no mood to take prisoners this time. The entire ambush was all over in less than thirty seconds._


	4. Chapter 4

_Miranda fell very quickly after the initial assaults. Their cordon quickly compromised by stealthy eldar infiltrators, the humans found their defensive circle had multiple holes in it far too late. By the time they realised anything was amiss, dark eldar assault craft were already racing through the city's streets, disgorging squads of warriors that quickly overwhelmed the human defenders. Though outnumbered, the eldar triumphed through sheer ferocity and the simple speed and surprise of their attack. This is what they are known for, of course. Ten thousand years worth of raiding has made them the finest fast attackers in the galaxy. Speed was important, for as much fun as raiding was, the real objectives were the taking of slaves. With the military forces present on the world all but extinct, they simply had to reap their terrible harvest on the hapless civilians and retreat back to their dark city._

_It would be later said however that the dark eldar raid on Miranda may have been too successful. Their vicious raid, and later brutal enslavement of the people of Varris, drew the attention of others. It wasn't other humans, for they were to slow to mobilise and react to the swift raids of the dark eldar, and posed little threat. Nor was it some other alien species, at least not one that belonged in the material realm. There were others who looked on from the other side of the veil. Blood, death, suffering, and all the emotions attributed to these things, attracted the gaze of these entities. But on Varris there was something that added even more allure to the events unfolding that caught their attentions. The eldar themselves. The dark eldar were not ignorant of this fact. They wouldn't have survived had they been. It was part of the reason they had to be swift in their attacks, and leave as soon as possible. Long ago, the eldar had unwittingly created something that still hunted them to this day. If they strayed from their hidden city for too long, She would find them. She found them on Miranda. Too preoccupied with their success, they had forgotten about Her. She would make them pay for this oversight._

_Her minions had massed in the warp, watching with growing impatience as the ignorant eldar raped Varris and its people. They wanted to join in, wanted to share in the suffering. But more than that, they wanted to taste the sweet nectar that is the soul of an eldar. Such delicious, delectable things were hard to come by. Nothing like the stale souls of men. Daemons sworn to other gods sought to jostle for position in the warp, hoping to join in the feast on Varris. Her Daemons would have none of it. Eldar souls belonged to Her, and Her alone. Other Daemons were easily repelled. Her horde had easily grown in great numbers, attracted to bright eldar souls mixed with human suffering as if it were a supernova within the warp. Interference and usurping from the other gods would not be tolerated...Varris would belong She who thirsts, bane of the eldar incarnate._


	5. Chapter 5

_The girl sprinted through the tall grass. The tall blades cut at her bare legs as she brushed by. She had no shoes, no clothing really other than a now torn nightgown. A village burned in the distance, her village. The eldar had come at night and took everyone. She had ran, escaping detection, or so she thought._

_She had heard the whooping and laughing. They had her trail. They wouldn't simply let her go she reasoned. She was young, and beautiful for that matter. She didn't think this with any vanity, on the contrary she wished she was anything but. Her physical qualities made her an especially interesting plaything for those depraved aliens. It would be better they simply killed her than took her prisoner. None of that mattered now though. She had to make it to the glade. If she could make it there, than all would be well, she would be safe. Her sisters waited there. She only had to make it to the glade._

They could see her now. She put up a good chase, this one. They could see her perfect white skin, almost glowing in the moonlight, off in the distance. Her black hair whipped from side to side as she sprinted for all her life.

She was headed toward a stand of trees, probably thinking to hide within them. It was almost sad, childish really, to think the trees would be some kind of haven. They would instead be a place of terror for this human. Once they caught her, they things that they would do...not too much, though, She would have to be brought back. Such a pretty little jewel shouldn't be used up all in one go. Kio'ril was more patient than that.

He was a sybarite, a rank he earned through viciousness, cunning, and above all, patience. One needed these things if they were to survive long as leaders of eldar warriors. Rank was attained by the strongest and most ruthless. If one wasn't, than his place would be taken over his dead body. As sybarite, he currently lead a full ten warriors. Four accompanied him in the chase of the ghostly human girl. The others were busy tearing the village apart.

She vanished in the trees. They were quick on her heals though, and soon found themselves in a clearing just inside the tree line. She was there, facing them. The gesture was almost unnerving. Her fear seemed to have vanished, no more the frightened little rabbit they had chased before. She was staring straight at Kio'ril. No...more like through him. Her green eyes seemed to simply pierce his body and stare at something else.

Suddenly he felt very drawn to her, even more than before. One of his warriors stepped forward, as if he would be the first to lay hands on her. He threw a look at the warrior, it was all it took. He was the alpha here. Hierarchy settled, he approached the girl, brandishing a knife in his fist. He would draw her blood, here her piercing screams. He wanted to violate her, more than anything he has ever wanted to do before. He noticed movement out of the corner of his eyes, and noticed for the first time that there were more girls in the glade. They appeared out of nowhere. Each was just as beautiful as the last, the most alluring things he'd ever seen.

A hand seized his face. It was the black haired girl. She kissed him. It surprised him so much he dropped his knife. His instincts screamed at him, somethings wrong...very wrong! But he wouldn't listen. His squad had followed his lead it seemed, each finding a female for themselves.

They were all trapped by these sirens, Kio'ril realised. They were all going to die. Except...wait, one of his squad was missing. Where was Ghost? Just than he felt a sharp pain in his mouth. The black haired girl drew back, blood on her lips and chin. In her teeth, she gripped a severed piece of his tongue.

Ghost had hung back, staying to the shadows of the surrounding trees. He noticed the other females lurking in the glade before the others had. They had immediately made him nervous, there was something wrong about them. None of the others seemed to care that the black haired girl had led them straight into an ambush. An ambush of scarcely clad, seemingly unarmed females... but still. Ghost hadn't lived as long as he had by taking things at face value.

Trying to warn the others would be pointless. They wouldn't listen too him. He was low on the pecking order of the squad. Low ranking warriors are usually used as point-scouts, basically to trip any ambushes or traps. He had avoided all of them so far, and his squad mates nicknamed him 'ghost'. It was a joke within the squad. They were even bets placed on how much longer he would last.

His train of thought was suddenly interrupted by one of the females. She snuck up on him somehow. He was awestruck by her beauty, almost forgetting himself entirely. He was immediately nervous. He hadn't had much contact with females, even of his own race. Only stronger males caught their attentions, not lowly ones such as himself.

She stared at him with piercing blue eyes. He looked away, back towards Kio'ril. Something was wrong. The black haired girl had blood on her mouth. Had Kio'ril done that? No...his posture was strange, he seemed to be slumping. Kio'ril's head fell to the side, exposing his neck. The black hair girl leaned down and bit into it. She tore into his throat like some feral beast. Ghost noticed the rest of his squad was suffering similar fates at the hands of the other girls.

He turned to the one that snuck up on him, swinging his splinter rifle as he did. He opened fire into thin air. She was gone. He got up and ran for his life. He headed back to the village to find the others...he had to warn them. Those things in the woods werent girls, or human. He knew what they were now. The raiders had lingered on Varris too long...She was here.

_The warrior ran through the tall grass. He could hear them, laughing and whooping behind him. They had finished with their playthings and now they sought him. Off in the distance, he could see the burning village. The other warriors were there, he just had to reach it. But even than he thought, even than he might not be safe. None of them were now._


	6. Chapter 6

Tessarl easily weaved through the rock debris and vehicle wreckage as she advanced down the battlefield. She crouched behind a burned out leman russ battle tank, her warp beasts also taking refuge in what cover they could find. She took stock of her surroundings. First this place was the sight of a large armored engagement between the two warring human factions. Now it seemed this would be the sight of the dark eldar's last stand.

The Archon had massed his forces and moved them towards a large webway gate, and with good reason. A massive daemonic incursion had caught them all unaware, destroying a quarter of their strength before any of them had realised what was happening. Fighting a battle against daemons was different from fighting a normal one. They could appear anywhere, at any time, ripping their way through reality with complete surprise. Battle lines and tactics meant next to nothing in such a battle. Splitting his forces would leave the smaller parts easily isolated and destroyed by a more mobile daemon army.

Massing in one group meant they could simply push forward in one bloody assault towards the gate. It would take a huge force, even if composed of daemons, too stop the eldar. The daemons would have little choice but too mass in the same fashion in order to cut off their escape. Unfortunately, Tessarl realised, the daemons seemed to have just the numbers needed to halt the Archon's aggressive push. Tessarl watched from behind the russ as daemons continued to emerge from the warp, wave after wave of daemonettes meeting with the Archon's warriors.

She watched as a ravager, the heaviest vehicle in the dark eldar's arsenal, blasted away with disintegrator cannons at a charging group of slaaneshi seekers. As the ravager decimated the flanking daemon cavalry, a monstrous construct erupted from the warp behind it. Half daemon and half machine, the soulgrinder was the daemon's answer to mortal heavy vehicles. The beast heaved forward on four mechanical legs, seizing the ravager with its massive right pincer. Hydraulics hissing, the claw bit into the ravagers thick plating quite easily, holding it fast. In such a fight, only mobility would have saved the stricken eldar skimmer, but now its fate was sealed. The soulgrinder opened its cavernous maw and spewed forth searing warpfire onto the open deck of the ravager. Tessarl watched with detached interest as the crew died in screaming agony.

Similar scenes were being repeated across the field. At first the eldar's resolve was strong. None could deny that a dark eldar was most dangerous when cornered. These daemons were especially lethal to all dark eldar, however. They were Slaanesh's own. They didn't simply fight with brute force, though they were very capable at such base acts. Their real strength lied in their subversiveness. They appealed to every eldar's darkest desires with their warp magic and turned it against them. She watched an eldar warrior squad simply walk into the embrace of a group of daemonettes, whom no doubt appeared to the addled warriors as fair maidens or some such. The warriors were than slowly quartered, eviscerated, etc.

Tessarl wouldn't fall for their parlor tricks. She was a wych. Her only desire was to kill. Their beguiling magics would only enhance her need to destroy them. Appearing to Tessarl as the most worthy of opponents wouldn't be conducive to a daemon's goal of stealing away her soul. Fighting lowly daemon foot soldiers wasn't what she was after here, however. This battle was lost, and little can be salvaged of it. She wanted to make something count before she quit the world. She had no doubts of her own ability to survive this debacle.

She was a hunter first, always a hunter. She was looking for something here. She watched countless combats across the field, but none were particularly special. Groups maneuvered and outmaneuvered, and combatants died. She was looking for something different, a focal point of death that nothing approached. Not a squad, but an individual. Something so deadly it created its own space, moved about where it pleased until it found something worthy of its attentions.

Suddenly she spotted it. A sybarite had been steadfastly holding the right flank with two squads of warriors. They had excellent cover and concealment, and it would take something drastic to uproot them. And something was currently doing just that. Tessarl growled commands at her warp beasts, and she began to move at a sprint towards the sybarite and his squads. She quickly reached the escalating melee, warriors being shredded all around her. They were no match for these daemonettes at close quarters. Already covered in blood, Tessarl set about her grim profession, lashing out with her agonizer whip and bisecting a daemon in the process of impaling a warrior. Her warp beast joined in as well, their own warp crafted claws and teeth proving mor than a match for the daemon's own unnatural physiology.

Tessarl suddenly caught sight of the sybarite. He put up a much better fight than his warriors, and had already tallied 3 daemons for himself. He set about his fourth, charging her with a grin borne of blind battle lust. Tessarl looked on, mildly impressed by the male, when the new daemon he had set after simply removed his left arm. With forearms that ended in great chitinous scimitars, she repeated this for all the rest of the sybarite's limbs, until he was a limbless, headless corpse on the ground. Tessarl had found her quarry.

It was as she had hoped. This horde was led by a herald. Most daemonic leaders would be beyond even her skill, but a herald she could handle, if only just. It was exactly the kind of challenge she lived for. The herald resembled a rank and file daemonette, but they acted as officers for the rest of the daemons. They were also monstrously skilled fighters.

Tessarl ran straight for the herald, howling a challenge as she charged. The herald turned, just as Tessarl's whip snapped at her neck. The herald deftly weaved under the swift attack, riposting with a backhanded swing of her arm-scythe. Tessarl barely managed to avoid being eviscerated, rolling over the slicing claw and into a crouch. She turned in time to see the herald, already cutting downward to decapitate her. Just before the blow landed, Ychet, on of Tessarls beasts, slammed into the heralds side.

Tessarl's warp beasts were like extensions of her own body, and no opponent faced her without facing them also. Tessarl leapt into motion, seeking to take advantage of the turn of events, when Ychet seemed to explode. It seemed that even her beasts wouldn't prove much of an edge against this herald. She would have to do this herself, or not at all. She quickly closed the gap, and Tessarl the huntress danced with Slaanesh's herald. They moved with such blinding speed that any who watched, daemon and eldar alike, would have been hard pressed to see who was winning.

Suddenly the two broke apart, their dance seemingly finished for the moment. The two combatants stared each other down, not taking even a second to consider the battle that was still raging around them. Tessarl was the first to move, almost stumbling to the ground. Seemingly exhausted, she was forced to take a knee, sucking in ragged breaths in an attempt to recover from the excertion of their combat. The herald had no such weaknesses. She never tired. With a cruel chuckle, she advanced forward in a blur, intent on finishing this little game.

It was what Tessarl was waiting for. Her feint having apparently worked, she rolled to her right with miraculously renewed vigour. She lashed out along the ground with her agonizer, catching the ankle of her would be killer. Viciously wrenching the whip backwards, she unceremoniously dumped the herald into the dirt, stunning her. She than disengaged the whip from around the herald's ankle by first activating the energy field about the whip, severing the herald's lower leg. The daemonette recovered admirably, balancing herself on her one remaining foot.

Tessarl kept applying pressure. She attacked again with blistering strikes from her whip, constantly dancing and leaping about the wounded daemon, seeking to get around behind her. The herald kept her at bay, but only just. It was only a matter of time until it made a mistake. The herald simply wasn't able to keep up with the leaping wych. The whip found her other leg, and soon the daemon had nothing left to stand on.

Tessarl knew this fight was over. It was a good fight, a memorable one. Normally she might enjoy her worthy opponents a long, drawn out death. They deserved as much. But this thing was daemonic, and worse still, it was one of Her daemons. Servant of the Great Maw didn't deserve any special treatment. Tessarl began to walk away, making a dismissive gesture as she did. The warp beasts closed in on the herald as commanded, and proceeded to tear her apart.

Tessarl took a moment to catch her breath. The fight had exerted her, though not as much as she'd let on. Her trials in the arenas had seen to her attaining peak conditioning for prolonged, close quarters combat. She watched as the pieces of the herald dissipated back to the warp with slight annoyance. She would get no trophy from this kill. No matter. The memory alone will suffice. Not many of her peers could claim such an achievement. Her attentions returned to the battle at hand. Things had not improved for the eldar.

Even with their leader dispatched, the daemons fought on regardless. At this point the advantage was so in the daemons favor it didn't matter that Tessarl had removed their head of command. Self preservation now took priority. There was almost no hope of the raiding party making it to a webway gate as a whole. Alone, Tessarl could slip away and reach it herself. She called her remaining warp beasts to gather around her. She took in the battle one final time, before turning her back on it and slipping away into the darkness.


	7. Chapter 7

Tessarl crouched next to two broken corpses. One, a daemonette, lay headless, with one of its claws sheared cleanly in half. It's disembodied head grinned despite the emptiness Tessarl saw in its eyes. The daemonette apparently found enjoyment in its death. To the right laid the daemonettes mount. Tessarl's warp beast had torn a ragged wound into the things long neck to take it down. She made short work of the rider afterwards. Her beast however had not come out unscathed. The mount had kicked out defensively with its legs, eviscerating her warp beast as it tore out the mounts throat. She watched as the beast rested amongst its own looping entrails. It would be no use to her now.

These hunters had been on her trail ever since she egressed from the lost battle. Seekers they were called. Their mounts could home in on ones desires; namely her desire to escape. How did one mask their desires? Tessarl had asked herself this question when she realized her peril. She simply accepted that she couldn't, and decided to turn the tables on her hunters and hunt them. They weren't fools though. At best, Tessarl could only hope for an equal fight. Taking them by surprise was nearly impossible. Her warp beasts bore the brunt of the punishment, and now she had none left.

She was close now. The gate was barely two miles away, and she didn't get the feeling that any more seekers were in the immediate area. This could change quickly, but for now she had a reprieve, a chance to clear her mind for a moment. Staying aware for so long was mentally taxing, even for her. She took a moment to take a knee, to feel her surroundings. She glanced at the dispersing corpses of the daemons. They were slowly being absorbed back into the warp. The light in the eyes of her warp beast had faded also, its life expended. It's body would not disperse however, since it was built from the bones and tissue of once mortal creatures, and then possessed by a daemonic essence. She ignored these things now, as they were little more than distractions. She took time to listen, to smell, and to look. She had to make sure there were no more threats. Impatience was the enemy.

Satisfied, she began to formulate the last leg of her escape. Two miles to go, give or take a few yards. The terrain was hilly and arid, with scattered rock outcrops. It would slow her, but it offered great cover and concealment. She was hungry, but not significantly weakened. Her thirst represented something more urgent. Without water she would be dead in hours. She regarded the dead warp beast, crouching next to it. She produced a blade from a sheath on her boot, and cut across an artery in the beasts neck. She drank what fluid was left, a little trick she had learned from previous raids. It would keep her hydrated long enough to reach the gate. It was time she got moving. Rising, she began to move in the direction of two large stands of rock. She would travel between the pass, and about a mile past that, the gate should be waiting.

Hours passed, and she had reached her destination. She scanned her surroundings for a long time, choosing to hide near the base of a ridge. This would be a perfect place for her to be ambushed. Most of the daemons that had pursued her exhibited a habit of tracking directly to her. They didn't show any inkling towards thinking ahead and springing a trap. They didn't have the patience. Still, the thought of her simply walking up to the gate unscathed seemed to good to be true. She couldn't rule out the possibility that a smarter, more patient seeker couldn't have made it here before her, even now waiting for Tessarl to misstep. Another fight may prove to be one too many. She was weak now and had the added loss of all her warp beasts. In the end, she supposed, none of this mattered. She would have to expose herself in order to activate the gate.

It wasn't visible of course. All gates were well concealed with cloaking. But she knew where it was, she could feel it. And it rested out in the open, completely exposed to anyone watching. She had to venture out there eventually. It was dark now, and that would help. She was resolved, she would simply have to make a break for it. She broke from her cover, dashing behind any rock big enough to conceal her. She moved like this until there was no cover left, and sprinted to where the gate was. She immediately settled into a crouch, trying to control her breathing and take in her surroundings. Nothing came charging at her, no unholy screams of the damned followed by scything claws and a violent death. Wasting no time, she began the ritual of opening. She made rapid hand signs, muttering the necessary phrases that would activate the gate. Only those of considerable power and influence amongst the dark kin knew how to open webway gates. How Tessarl had come across such coveted knowledge? She kept that a closely guarded secret.

She completed the ritual, and waited. It didn't take long for the gate to open. It wasn't anything flashy or obvious, no light show or catastrophic ripping of time space. Eldar technology was of course, more subtle. All that anyone would notice was a slight, vertical ripple. It was easier to see if she looked at it through her peripheral vision. The device itself always remained cloaked. Everything was geared towards concealment and subterfuge where eldar were involved. Tessarl stood up and headed toward the open gate at a jog, her deliverance close at hand. She wouldn't reach it.

She felt it before she heard it. It felt like something blunt struck her back, almost knocking the wind from her lungs. This was quickly followed by a searing pain that she could distinctly feel as it quickly spread across her back and into her limbs. She looked behind her, briefly trying to see what struck her. There was nothing. She still kept her forward momentum, she was so close to the gate! But she stumbled, spasms overcoming her motor functions. She lay on the ground, now all but helpless, her muscles violently contracting all over her body. As she writhed, she noticed something glinting amongst the splatter of her own blood. It was a small shard of crystal. No, more like a crystal splinter. Through gritted teeth, she let out a howl of rage. Betrayal! Of all the way she expected to die on this world, it was the last thing she considered. She thought all of the rest of her kin had died in that last, desperate bid for escape.

A familiar form coalesced out of the surrounding gloom. Tall and lithe, clad in the typical black armor of his profession, the warrior slowly approached the paralyzed wych. Tessarl laughed bitterly at herself. She was a peerless warrior. It was she who had bested Acacia the skin-flayer in only her fifth arena bout. It was she who hunted and killed the Autarch Nasirin, along with his entire bodyguard. It was Tessarl who defeated the herald of an entire daemon host in single combat! And now she lay here, defeated by a mere warrior! It didn't matter that he had stalked her, striking from the shadows like a coward. It's what she would have done. That he displayed a greater ability at fieldcraft and patience than her gulled Tessarl to no end. She was the consummate hunter; nothing hunted her, ever! Even when they believed they were doing so.

"Warrior…your…name…I would have it." Tessarl said, with great effort.

Ghost regarded her for a moment, considering the question. He saw no reason to answer. She would be dead soon. He moved passed the wych, a growl issuing from her as he passed. He had known where this particular gate was located, but not how to open it. He was content to wait for the Archon and his forces to push through the daemon horde and open the gate. Instead, this wych showed up. Apparently the Archon was not successful. Wychs were dangerous, unpredictable. She was just as likely to kill him as allow him to accompany her on an escape. He didn't take the chance. Death was simply not an alternative.

Ghost moved quickly towards the waiting gate, when something else happened. Something was emerging from the gate. Not just one, but many. Lithe sinuous forms, sporting elegant arms that ended in long, curved claws. A pall of musk reached Ghosts nostrils, a familiar smell. Behind him, a ragged laugh rose from where the wych lay. Ghost ignored her, turning his attentions back to the daemons, who so suddenly dashed any hopes of his escape. They apparently infiltrated the local web tunnels. There was no way out now. Ghost wanted to face down his death bravely, head held high and defiant. It felt shallow. He knew what was next…what awaited all of his kind when they died.

The daemons advanced, sprinting excitedly at the doomed eldar. Each leered at Ghost and Tessarl with lewd, lust-filled eyes. Ghost wasted no time in opening fire with his splinter rifle. He would never kill them all. He was resolved, however, to go down fighting. They would not take him alive. He refused to be their plaything, some object for them to torture before they ended his life. No, he would never allow that. He had an eternity of torture too look forward to when he was dead, after all.


End file.
